


The protesters!college AU nobody asked for

by Kaoro



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22635838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaoro/pseuds/Kaoro
Summary: After the Student Center’s printer giving up the ghost right before him and almost getting run over on his way back from the printing shop two blocks away, the lecture hall building was blocked by a student protest. That begged repeating. Nasir could not emphasize it enough, even in the security of his own mind.
Relationships: Agron/Nasir
Comments: 9
Kudos: 19





	The protesters!college AU nobody asked for

The lecture hall building was blocked by a student protest. It was barely 9:30 AM, he hadn’t slept one wink to finish his paper and the lecture hall building was blocked by a student protest. After the Student Center’s printer giving up the ghost right before him and almost getting run over on his way back from the printing shop two blocks away, _the lecture hall building was blocked by a student protest_. That begged repeating. He could not emphasize it enough, even in the security of his own mind.

To say that Nasir was not having a good start to his day would be an understatement. Also, his unbridled ingestion of coffee throughout the night meant that he couldn’t tell how much of his palpitations was due to stimulants and how much was anxiety. He felt more than a bit unhinged.

He had a temper, alright. He knew it, the people close to him knew it, and only those in a position of power over him remained happily ignorant of the burning resentment blazing away inside him behind the polite smile and downcast eyes. The students before him though held absolutely no authority over him and when one of the men raised his arm to stop him from pushing past, something in him snapped.

Nasir had never quite fallen into the delinquent crowd during his teenage years but had been shaken enough by the experience that was foster care that he did learn to throw a punch or two. He wasn’t one for unnecessary risks though and had only ever gotten to blows with people his own size.

These weren’t people his own size.

His face hit the asphalt with a smacking sound and he winced as he realized some of the gravel against his cheek had probably drawn blood.

“What the fuck?!” a voice sounded behind him, further than the person holding him down.

He struggled against the weight on his back and the hands holding his arms back tightened in warning.

“I’ll let you go but don’t try that again,” said the one holding him.

Someone somewhere groaned in exasperation - “Really, Spartacus, that’s _it_?!” - but Nasir ignored it, too busy bucking into the regained freedom of his limbs and hastening back to his feet, his eyes wild.

He could hear blood pumping in his ears and his heartbeat was deafening him to the noises around.

“I want in!” He hissed at them.

The man who had been holding him – Spartacus, apparently – looked right back at him serenely, like he hadn’t just dodged a punch to the face then rubbed Nasir’s face into the ground in a move that, in retrospect, had seemed more like instinctive self-defense than purposeful violence. He was taller than Nasir – but then, most people were, much to his chagrin – and built like a brick shithouse. An even stockier man a few steps behind was glaring at Nasir like he wanted nothing more than to cave his face in and by his side an absurdly tall guy with a bunch of leather necklaces was looking at him with condescending amusement.

They all had too much muscle mass per person, to be honest. Even the two closest women holding signs, one of which looked distantly familiar in that way regular faces on a campus can be, had unexpected muscle definition.

Professor Curio had been very clear about the way he felt about people missing his classes and Nasir had earned his scholarship, gods damn it! A bunch of students too busy playing at politics and too lazy to work on their education weren’t going to earn him the first strike on his record. Nasir took a deep breath to center himself and pasted on his blandest self-effacing smile.

“I really need to get inside,” he said politely.

The tall guy with more necklaces than sense chortled at him, sharing an amused look with a slimmer man wearing his hair in locks. Nasir ignored them and looked at Spartacus expectantly who shook his head in reply, though not unkindly.

“I’m sorry, but no exceptions.”

Nasir was too tired for this shit.

“If I fucking lose my scholarship because of this-” he snarled, then bit down on his lip to keep himself quiet.

Spartacus narrowed his eyes at him, his eyes alight with curiosity but also something deeper, sharper, pointed.

“That would be an abuse of authority. One of the reasons we’re protesting.” he pointed out, holding out an arm to encompass the gathering around them. The taller guy behind grinned at them and lifted the arm of one of the women by his side. She rolled her eyes long-sufferingly but allowed the manhandling. _‘Silence is violence’_ read the sign they thus waved together. Around them, on other signs, _‘make our university safe again’_ , _‘students aren’t slaves to their masters’ knowledge’_ and the one that really caught his attention : _‘justice for Naevia’_.

A memory started to condense in his mind. He had met her before, months ago, albeit briefly, before she stormed out of Curio’s class. He had heard of her conflict with her director of studies since then, something Ashur, whom she accused of harassment and trying to take credit for her work. The man in turn claimed to have been seduced in exchange for working on her thesis and the whole situation was an utter mess, one that hit a bit too close to home for Nasir’s comfort. He felt leaden.

Spartacus was looking at him curiously, _knowingly_ , so he wet his lips, opened his mouth to say something, anything, when a voice sounded at the top of the stairs of the building they were blocking.

“Ah, Tiberius!” professor Curio said. “Are you hostage or protester?”

Chadara was standing by his side, beautiful and demure and smiling so gently and so politely and her eyes so downcast in a way that Nasir knew to be fake and he grit his teeth against a snarl, his hands made into fists by his side and his cheeks burning in humiliation but his eyes, oh, his eyes burning with hate he could not quite contain.

He took an unconscious step forward and this time Spartacus didn’t stop him. Worse, the man even moved to the side to give him room to speak and be and Nasir resented him for it. Nasir found himself resenting everyone, all of a sudden. He had spent so many years reigning himself in, just taking the insults, the jests, the contempt, being pleasant and nice and useful, unassuming and nonthreatening, and he didn’t want to ruin it in a temper tantrum one shitty Thursday morning but here he was, unable to keep his anger in leash, feeling like he was losing his footing in the world and nobody was helping him keep quiet.

So he drew himself tall, raised his head, and shouted.

“My fucking name is Nasir!”

Silence followed, heavy and charged, then Professor Curio rolled his eyes, said “Tiberius is much easier to remember,” and turned to whisper something to Chadara with his hand on her lower back.

“No it isn’t,” tall guy half-whispered with a humorless snort that had him shushed by the woman he had held out the sign with.

“Class is canceled,” Professor Curio announced and walked back inside without a second glance.

Chadara stood still as she watched him go, subservient and soft, and only came back to life once he was out of sight. She walked down the stairs with nervous energy to her steps, slipped between a couple of protesters kind enough to make room for her.

“What the fuck, Nasir?” she asked when she reached him and though her voice was more amused than it was disapproving, all soft and kind, he knew her enough to hear the hint of alarm underneath. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of his bruised cheek and the dirt covering it. “Making new friends?”

Nasir hid his face in his hands with a pained groan and hoped for some miracle to make him vanish.

**Author's Note:**

> if there are people alive in this fandom I may write more since I have some ideas idk. I myself had an itch to scratch and now it's scratched
> 
> Still, I feel it's important to point out that this isn't some attempt to demonize teachers in general, like, the "slave student/master teacher" sign thing was just a nod towards the show more than a sincere deep reflexion on teacher-student dynamics. That being said I know enough to know that there are abuses of authority, as there are EVERYWHERE in society where there are authoritarian dynamics, and that's the theme here. For reasons. Of the show being the show.


End file.
